February 27, 2004

La la la, at home today, taking my very first personal day in like, ever.

Plan for the day:

1) Sleep the FUCK IN.2) Wake up, go online and find that dozens more people submitted movies for the B&B auditions.2) Check email for final section of group school project that was supposed to sent to me on Wednesday by group member #4.3) Put all parts of school project together, apply my super-editing-powers, email it off to our group's long-lost fifth member who hasn't done a goddamned thing but claims to be a good editor because she "edited my high school newspaper!" Fine, bitch, edit away. 4) Pop-Tarts.5) Take the WRX in for 15,000 mile service. Get better service than I got here.6) Doctor's appointment. Blood-letting. Out-of-pocket lab tests. Grr.7) Simpsons Hit & Run.

The day so far:

1) Woke up at 7 a.m. Was spotted and outed as awake by cat. Was permanently awaken by cat with the crying and the pacing and the jumping on my head.2) Not. A. One. You have the weekend. Get cracking.3) Did not receive final part of project from mysterious group member #4. Seethed. Realized I'm going to spend all weekend waiting for this. Tattled to the rest of the group. So there.4) We have no Pop-Tarts.

I might as well be at work, I'm having that much fun. If you need me, I'll be downstairs kicking and running over Springfieldians.

February 25, 2004

TypePad seems to be behaving now....so I think I shall unveil my new photo album. Which does not contain a single picture of me. But which does contain my hilarious and snappy critique of the latest Victoria's Secret catalog.

(But which. Buttwich! Ha! Ok, I've been looking at these pictures for way too long.)

And yes, some of these pictures might not be suitable for work. Ladies in their underdrawers and such. Cleavage. Possibly some ankles. You've been warned.

**Victoria's Secret owns all these pictures and the pretty things in them. I probably shouldn't have taken them but I did. So either 1) Please don't tell on me, or 2) Hi Victoria's Secret lawyers! You look pretty too. I buy lots and lots of stuff from your catalog and love it very much. Please don't sue me.

And I'm super-bummed because I have this hilarious new photo album to share. It's a downright laff riot. Also? Victoria's Secret models. So I bring the funny AND the boobs...a little something for everyone.

But no way am I wasting this kind of brilliance when one photo would take about a bazillion hours to load. So we wait. In the meantime, why don't you make a film??

February 24, 2004

1) I very nearly choked and died while taking a multivitamin. I started swallowing the pill before I even had my glass of juice up to my lips. Gag reflex ensued, but the vitamin got stuck in the back of my throat. Rather than take a swig of juice to dislodge it, I panicked and stood there gagging on it for a good 30 seconds.

But in the end, I’m alive and full of nutrients.

2) While blow-drying my hair, I noticed that the little lint filter thing was pretty gross looking. So I popped the dryer open and started picking out lint. After deciding this was taking entirely too long, I put the filter back in the dryer and closed it up. Only I put the filter in the opposite way, because I figured this way I couldn’t see all the gross lint. Problem solved. Until I turned the dryer on and a big cloud of lint and dust came shooting out and into my hair.

3) I carried a bag of trash all the way out to my car before realizing that I’d forgotten to drop it in the trash room back in my building.

4) I was dumped by my Pet Boyfriend because I totally forgot to go visit him. And I was kinda bummed about this.

February 23, 2004

Are you funny? Do you have a blog you want desperately to promote? Have you ever dreamed of seeing yourself in animated form? Are you ready for your close-up?

Then Webcam Donkey Productions Ltd. wants YOU!

Webcam Donkey Productions Ltd., the scholarly think-tank behind the already-totally-famous and acclaimed animated soap opera, The Bold & The Bloglicious, is holding an open casting call.

We’re looking for new characters to join the soap. We’ll plug your blog and cleverly incorporate all the funny shiat you write. (For an example, please see Doxie, Miss.) We can make you a hero, a villain and a sex symbol, all at the same time. We can get you laid.

Here’s what you do, kitties:

1) Watch the latest episodes of the soap. Bask in its hilarious awesomeness. All episodes can be found on the sidebar. Somewhere.

3) Make an episode using their super-duper-way-easy-a-monkey-could-do-it MovieMaker.

4) Put yo’self in it. Make yo’self funny and fine. Using existing plots or make shit up. It’s really up to you. I mean yo’.

5) Post your creation here on the comments board, or email it directly to Amy and Lauren if you’re shy.

6) Lauren and I, being the bosses of you, will decide which one(s) we like best. The criteria is 100% subjective, unfair and random, and mostly boils down to You = Make Us Laugh.

7) Profit.

The winner’s episode will officially join the ranks of such classics like “Finding Doxie” and “The Plot Twistens.” AND the winner will become a recurring character, all but guaranteeing crazy Internet fame and non-fortune.

We may pick one. We may pick two. We may be drunk during the judging process. You don’t have to have a blog or a journal, but just make sure you leave comments often enough to give us fuel for your character, ya dig?

Also: Please participate. Please? You will make me cry real tears if you don’t play along.

I have absolutely nothing of interest to say today (yet please note that I am still typing) and I am paralyzed with fear over having to write the next episode of the Bold & the Bloglicious because I have no idea how to top what Lauren and I produced on Friday. We're up to Part Eight y'all. Plans have been foiled, songs have been sung and plots have been twistified beyond all reason.

And for everybody who's been emailing asking/pleading/begging for a part, rest assured, we'll be holding open casting calls soon. But if anybody out there looks like Snoop Dogg, please email me immediately because there's this Snoop Dogg character that I want to use like, so bad.

February 20, 2004

2) Two of the meanest freaking geese ever have taken up residence in my parking garage at work. They strut around and make a racket and honk honk honk all the livelong day. Also: Bird shit. Everywhere. And as I was walking in from my car this morning I passed them. Innocently. I mean the birds no ill will. I don’t want to steal their nest. I didn’t even look at the girl goose. But then the boy goose freaking charged at me. Wings wide open, honking like hell…running right at me. So what did I do when threatened by a goose? I ran like the scared little chicken I am. Fast. And I may have shrieked a little bit.

3) Ok, and for everyone who freaked out on my behalf over my boss reading this site, let me back up on the drama queenness. VP Mike is cool, dawgs. I'm totally down with him reading. Like once? He threw a party and invited the whole team over for Maryland crabs. I love me some crabs. And there were Jello shots there, people. Jello shots. He rocks. He also sent me an email yesterday with the subject line “You’re Not Fired…Not Yet Anyway.” See? Cool.

This would also be a good time to point out that I really don’t do too much work-related kvetching on this site. Work is work, and I actually like my job and about 63.5% of my coworkers. All the work trash-talk can be found on my other site, www.myassholecoworkers.com, or in my upcoming tell-all book about the seedy underside of financial newsletter publishing. Neither of which exist. Yet. Either way, send money!

4) Lots more parts to The Bold and The Bloglicious saga have arrived. Please see sidebar for more hilarity, purple pouting and lots of in-jokes.

6) I have a five-page paper on conflict resolution due on Sunday. Have I started it? Hell no.

7) Any "Casual Friday" that still requires me to wear heels, stockings and dryclean-only pants is NOT CASUAL. Oooh look at me! I’m not wearing a jacket! Look at me go with my crazy-casual dress slacks and sweater with NO JACKET! Anarchy, I tell you.

February 19, 2004

For God’s sake be aware of how much it costs to get where you are going. This rule is in place to spare you the embarrassment of an Inadequate Fare Card that gets spat back at you as you walk into the orange turnstile thingie as they don’t open for you and you must take your Inadequate Fare Card and act confused and immensely puzzled and push through the all people back to the exitfare machines—when everyone knows there’s nothing to be puzzled about; you are an idiot who needs 80 cents added onto your card.

At the exitfare machine you will be embarrassed again if you don’t have 80 cents but only have a five-dollar bill. After you insert the aforementioned denomination, 80 cents will be added to your card, while 16 quarters and four nickels will be spat back at you and which jingle loudly in your pocket as you return to the orange gate things, with your fare card 80 cents richer and your pockets 20 times heavier and louder.

Metro has attempted to make knowing how much it costs to get where you are going fairly easy. At each stop there is a big shiny board with a colorful map and the fare prices for every station. But the passenger is expected to know how to spell their destination and I believe this must be where the whole system crumbles.

This might be a good point to tell all everyone that I’m not really that obnoxious of a Metro rider. Much. The Great and Mighty Metrorail System has the ability to make even the most seasoned Regular look like an immense fool.

Case in point. A plague of escalator troubles had knocked out a couple in Bethesda for quite a stretch of time. The Down escalator would only go Up, and the Up escalator went Nowhere At All. So the Mad Frantic Rush down to the train platform was rerouted to the left, and the Mass Exodus was rerouted to, well, their left. (For commuters, this is the walking equivalent to driving in England.)

This escalator switch was well-marked by pieces of paper with the word DOWN on them taped to orange cones. For days I abided by these signs to the point that I no longer noticed them.

Until the day I saw my train on the platform below and made a Mad Frantic Rush for it. I didn’t notice until I was about halfway down that this was no longer the Down escalator. I realized this when the mass Exodus was headed for me. Headed for me and hungry for a trampling.

I looked over and saw that the Down escalator that for days had been only going Up was now going Nowhere At All. And everyone who was calmly walking down was looking at me like I was an Immense Moron. And everyone who was Exodusing in the upward direction was looking at me like I was Satan. I tried explaining the situation in a British accent but I don’t think anyone heard me and I got squashed, stepped on and shoved all the way down to the platform where I was greeted by the doors slamming in my face. Doors Closing. Ding Dong.

Second case in point. My Dumbass Self got on without realizing that Peak Hours are now in effect. Peak Hours are during Washington, D.C.’s three-hour-long rush hours in the morning and afternoon. Since more people are riding the trains are full and you can’t get a seat, and because you get the privilege of standing and hanging onto a bar with 237 other people in the same three foot area Metro feels it is only fair and just that you get charged more to ride during these times.

So I got off, slipped my Inadequate Fare Card into the turnstile thingie which spat it right back out and told me to go to the extifare machines. So I took my card and acted confused and immensely puzzled and pushed through the people who were in a Terrible Hurry back to the exitfare machines.

And I thought about the very harsh and arrogant words I had written about people in this very situation and laughed a bit. Oh well silly me. Until I realized that I needed a dollar added to my card and I had a $10 bill and a nickel in my wallet. I groaned at the thought of nine dollars in change but laughed again. Oh silly dumb me.

Until I realized that the Exitfare machines only take one- and five-dollar bills and there was no one to make change for a ten. Oh silly dumb me, who now had absolutely no way of getting out of the damn Metrorail system. I considered jumping the turnstile. But this was the Shady Grove station in Maryland and you just didn’t jump turnstiles in the suburban stations -- they watch you too closely because there aren’t any murders or important crimes happening nearby.

I had to beg my fellow passengers for change for a ten. And of course no one had it. Everybody was like me -- coming back from a big money-spending excursion downtown. Finally a couple took pity on me and just gave me a dollar, which I then proceeded to put into the exitfare machine in the wrong direction no less than five times. The Station Manager came over and put it in for me. As I finally left the station, I thought of every mean word I had written about idiots on the Metro and vowed to rewrite this essay and dedicate it to the couple that gave me a dollar.

It was kind of like a late night promise to God to never drink again if He will just make you stop vomiting.

So I left work late yesterday after toiling on the soapishexploits of Amy, Lauren, Miss Doxie & the evil Señor Shiznit (New! Part Three is here!). I got on the elevator with our division's VP and Publisher, who is the boss of me above the boss of me. And who is awesome. And who apparently (as I would learn during this elevator ride) reads this site.

Oh!

Um.

Look at me! I'm working very, very hard. I only blog during my lunch hour, I. Swear. To. God. And I actually mean lunch half-hour, because I work so very, very hard. See, I can write something and then tell Typepad to post it later, so when you see posts at 4:17 p.m. on a Tuesday it doesn't mean that I actually wrote it then...oh no, not at all. Isn't that...um, super interesting?

A bazillion parts are already available, and more shall be written when we damn well feel like it, and available for your viewing pleasure on the burgeoning sidebar of this hallowed site. And seriously you guys? This is funny stuff.

From time to time? We host open casting calls, which are totally fun and let you get in on the action. (Ooh dirty!)